


Do You Believe?

by CrepuscularPetrichor



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Blood Magic, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Gambling, M/M, Magic, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27002923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrepuscularPetrichor/pseuds/CrepuscularPetrichor
Summary: Demons and magic and ghosts, hooray!
Relationships: Caleb Brewster & Benjamin Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster/Benjamin Tallmadge
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3
Collections: Turn of the Seasons: Fall 2020





	1. Do You Believe in Love After Life?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons and magic and ghosts, hooray!

Ben sprinkled sage dust around the pentagram. It would keep the demon inside, until it agreed to do the king’s bidding. He consulted his recipe book. He’d needed to substitute powdered garlic for fresh cloves, and he’d run out of pressed mugwort.

“Don’t know what he expects from me,” Ben muttered, “summoning a demon after the first frost.” But Ben wasn’t in a position to argue with the king about his timetable. 

The hefty book dropped a few loose rosemary needles on his feet. His predecessor thought it convenient to store ingredients between the book’s pages, as well as his own notes, scribbled on scrap parchment and stuffed towards the spine. These told Ben things that should have been clear to any apothecary’s apprentice, much less the royal physicker. People tended to call him a ‘warlock,’ ‘magician,’ or ‘enchanter;’ at that, Ben scoffed. 

“Volo ut dignum est amor vitae meae.” He chanted the given words, but they lacked something. There were no words like “daemonium,” “mali spiritus,” or “infernum.” But, Ben wasn’t a linguist. He’d focused his study on herbs, on physical ailments and real solutions, not on all this long-overwritten ‘magic’ nonsense. It was just his luck the king loved the occult. 

Ben was not looking forward to meeting a demon in winter. Demons were unpleasant when they were cold, and they were always cold in the human world. At least during Beltane, you could summon them with roaring fires. Still, he had a job to do. As he spake the final words- “Et hæreditate possidebo te nocte-” a mist coagulated above the pentagram. Ben frowned, turning over his notes. Demons were supposed to materialize in hellfire, not mist. 

“What the hell is going on?” demanded a rough voice. 

“Hang on,” Ben said, flipping the page, which let loose a sprig of dried yarrow. He re-read a few lines before he looked up and squinted at the figure in the circle. It was semi-translucent, like the mist curling around the floor had grown until it formed the outline of a stocky, bearded man. The man crossed his arms over his barrel chest, and gave the impression of tapping his foot, though Ben couldn’t see that he had any. 

“You’re a ghost.” Ben sighed and dropped his recipe book onto the lectern with a thud. 

“No shit,” answered the ghost. “And a moment ago, I was haunting a couple on their wedding night, so tell me what I’m doing in your drafty tower?” 

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I told him you couldn’t summon a demon before Beltane.” 

The ghost snorted. “Of course not. Demons need fresh garlic. You use this powdered shite, you’re just begging for the undead.” He scowled. “I don’t know why it had to be me. What kind of a demon incantation gets you an audience with a dead sailor?” 

Ben sighed and picked the loose page out of his book. A second page peeled away from it and fluttered to the ground. As he bent to pick it up, the ghost leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the book. When he made contact with the sage circle, the translucence solidified into burning flesh and the ghost yelped and flew back. 

“What the hell?” the ghost demanded as Ben unfolded both pieces of parchment, side by side. “Can we not, with the burning circle? Christ, you’d think you didn’t want me here. I didn’t ask for this, you— why are you looking at me like that?”

Ben was gaping at the dead sailor like a fish out of water. He glanced back at the two pages of parchment. The one on the left was a recipe for summoning a demon. But when he’d flipped the page to read the incantation, he’d read from a second page, stuck to the back by a remnant of sap. 

“It’s an invocation for true love.”

“You’re kidding.” 

Ben shook his head. The ghost floated closer. He raised a tentative hand toward Ben’s face. The ring of sage burned him, and the sailor yelped. “Gods be damned, break this sage circle now.” 

Ben hesitated. 

“You can’t be thinking of leaving me in here.” 

“I don’t believe in true love.” 

“Then why did you summon a lover?” 

“My Latin is a bit rusty, okay?” 

“Rusty enough to sink a steam liner.” 

“I don’t even know your name.” 

“We can fix that.” The dead sailor glanced Ben over, appraising. “I’ve always thought that love at first sight was bullshit. True love takes time. It takes patience.”

Ben gazed into the ghost’s eyes. 

“Plus, I’ll bet you don’t have a spell to send me back. So, you’re stuck with me.” 

Ben closed his eyes and groaned. 

“What?” The sailor dusted off his cassock. “I was quite popular when I was alive, you know.” 

“That. Isn’t that the problem?” 

“Ohhhh. So you just don’t believe in love with someone undead.” 

“You’re a ghost.” 

“I still have feelings. Jesus. I didn’t choose this, it’s your own fault you screwed up the spell.” A pause. More quietly, “I’m willing to give us a chance.” 

“You don’t even know me!” 

“You don’t know me.” 

They stood there, silent, separated by a thin margin of sage dust on the ground. 

“I was called Caleb.” The ghost scrubbed a hand through his scraggly hair. “It means faithful, or whole-hearted devotion. I waited my whole life to live up to that name. To find someone worth being devoted to. Then I died before I found him. Call me crazy, but this seems like an answer.” 

“I wouldn’t put that much faith in me, if I were you.” 

Caleb grinned. “Maybe someone ought to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt of combined genre: Romance / Fairy Tale / Ghost Story, under 1,000 words.
> 
> First in a series of flash fiction pieces with different prompts, set in the same universe.


	2. Do You Believe in Life After Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Caleb get medieval, part 2: Steampunk edition

Caleb floated down through the ceiling of the rosewood-paneled cabin. He’d done this enough that it no longer surprised Ben, who was holding a bowl up to the sunlit window of the steamship. 

“Whatcha doin’?” Caleb asked, watching Ben examine the viscosity of the bowl’s dark red contents.

“Using menstrual blood to create a fertility draught for the princess,” Ben muttered. As he set the bowl down, he saw more than felt Caleb’s hand laid over his. A ripple of intangible sensation over his fingers, and he paused.

“You’re supposed to be on vacation, Benny.”

Ben took back his arm, leaned back in his delicately carved chair. The suspension was inadequate in any case, not that it was ever likely to have worked. 

“What do you suggest for entertainment, then?”

Caleb shrugged. He fiddled with the gleaming gold metalwork of the candelabrum on the wall.

“Well, you wanted to see the mechanism behind the steam turbines. Or we could walk up on the top deck.” His voice was casual, offhand. He was clearly leading up to something. He drifted closer, and Ben felt the proximity as a breeze ruffling the hem of his tunic around his stockings. “Then of course, there is the dice tournament this evening.”

Dice? “I don’t understand why men gamble on games of pure chance,” Ben said.

“I think the prize for this tournament may be more interesting than money.”

“Oh?” Ben’s curiosity was piqued, not by the prize, but by Caleb’s attitude. Despite his tone, his eyes kept moving, unable to meet Ben’s. 

“Do you know of a John Graves?”

A trickle of unease ran down Ben’s back like a drop of rain falling through a leaky ceiling.

“He’s a _necromancer_.”

“Aye. And he’s agreed to do some gratis magic for the winner of the game.”

Ben stared, open mouthed.

Caleb sighed. “You’re looking at me like my head is missing, tall boy.”

“Why do you think it would be a good idea for you- a _ghost_ \- to make a deal with a _necromancer_?”

“I think necromancers have a bad reputation, because people don’t like to think about death, but really the goal of necromancy is to communicate. Okay, maybe a few bad eggs have used dead bodies as weapons, but—”

“Caleb.”

Caleb stopped. 

“What kind of magic do you want him to do?”

Caleb’s smile was more like a grimace, pained and tight. “D’you really not know, Ben?”

Ben’s exasperated head shake made Caleb squeeze his eyes together and sigh. He raised his hand to Ben’s face, and Ben felt the familiar sensation of a zephyr brushing his cheek. The shadow of a touch. His heartbeat picked up speed.

“You think that Graves would know of some way to…”

“I don’t know who else might.”

Ben wanted to protest, wanted to argue that he could find something, that Caleb hadn’t even asked… but perhaps it had been a kindness on Caleb’s part, not to say anything to Ben before.

Ben sighed. “I hope you have a plan for how to cheat.”

#

The tournament was rowdy. Small crowds gathered in circles, men constantly moving from one group to another, creating living currents that swept around Ben until he foundered. He retreated, gripping one of the ornate gold and cedar bookcases set into the walls around the steamship’s main deck. He tried to keep his eyes on Caleb. There were games of raffle, passage, and hazard. All relied purely on luck. Ben could have predicted the likelihood of any one man winning all, if he had enough pieces of information. It wasn’t high.

Still, as the evening wore on, more men cleared space in the hall. Some grumbled over their losses, some were too giddy with ale and the cheer of playing to mind. But Caleb stayed on. And on. And on. Until, at last, he was face to face with a tall redhead that Ben recognized as Graves. He watched Caleb smile, a tense smile which did not display any of his native joy. Ben saw Caleb say something quietly to Graves. As Graves replied, Caleb’s eyes flicked up to meet Ben’s across the room. Every muscle in Ben’s body was tense, watching Caleb sit with a necromancer and, by all appearances, try to make a deal.

Apparently, some agreement was reached. Dice were thrown. The game was raffle. Three dice, each six sides, one chance in thirty-six that all three would show the same number. And Graves had the same odds as Caleb. Ben couldn’t see the table, didn’t know that his stomach would be less twisted up in knots if he could. Doubted it. But he saw a grin, the true grin of a cheeky bastard spreading across Caleb’s face, and thought he must have won. At least he must’ve gotten what he wanted, even if Ben was still wary of contracting with a necromancer.

#

Caleb opened the door to their rosewood-paneled cabin, startling Ben into dropping a fistful of acorns, which scattered over the table.

Caleb raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, glancing down at his feet- he had feet, bare feet, unshod and filthy somehow, though they were still at sea- but he was unable to keep his eyes long from watching Ben’s reaction.

Ben stood. He stared. Caleb’s cheeks were tinged pink with wind or embarrassment, his beard and curly hair dark against his pale- but not translucent- skin.

“Can’t be that bad,” Caleb said, shrugging.

“No,” Ben protested, advancing one small step. He felt lost.

“For Christ’s sake,” Caleb said, and closed the distance to take Ben’s face between his hands.

It was no gentle wind, nothing hinted nor whispered. Caleb’s touch was warm, his fingers curling around Ben’s neck, his thumb brushing over Ben’s lips, waiting, asking.

“This is real?”

“For as long as we have it.”

Ben did not ask how long they had. He did not want to know. This kind of magic- the kind that should not be done- was never done gratis. It always came with a price. Whatever the cost, Caleb had agreed to pay it so that they could share this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompts: Genre: Steampunk, Location: Tournament, Object: Acorn - under 1,000 words
> 
> Side note, how perfect is the name "Graves" for spooky times?


	3. Do You Believe in Spies after Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spying, steampunk, cats, & the undead. At least one of those is relevant to the show.

“Why am I even here?” Caleb whined. 

“Because I don’t know how to sail,” Ben said, exasperated, trying to concentrate on putting one hand above the other. 

Climbing a rope dangling in the breeze was not his forte. Caleb, on the other hand, was well used to the wavering of winds, and kept close below Ben. Ben couldn’t decide if this was vexing, or a comfort- at least Caleb was between him and a nasty fall on the rocky shore below. He tried not to look down, where their little dinghy was moored to a large rock. He was almost to the window. No sense in turning back now. 

“Yeah, but why are we breaking into a cathedral?” 

Ben gritted his teeth. The stone wall was slick under his soft leather shoes, inured as it was to the constant spray of saltwater at high tide. Just a few more feet, hand over fist, up the rope. His palms burned with sweat. 

“We need to steal something.” 

He felt Caleb’s hand brush his thigh. The chances it was accidental were slim. Now that he could, Caleb touched him constantly. 

“Steal what? What does the king need stolen from the church?” He wasn’t shocked, wasn’t objecting, just curious. 

“Secrets.” Ben answered as he brought one hand off the rope and onto the edge of the windowsill. At last. He grunted as he pulled himself up onto the ledge. The stained glass window was cracked, lead came bent where the grappling hook had made impact. He kicked in and bent an opening large enough to slide through. Fragments stuck out of the window’s edges, and the large iron claws of the hook made for a pointy entrance. 

The inside of the cathedral was dark, only lighted by the moon shining through the multicolored windows. The effect was eerie; the glass had been designed to diffuse sunlight, and under the moon the colors were distorted and bleak. 

He couldn’t tell how far down the floor was. He lowered himself on the inside of the window until his arms were fully extended, and still felt nothing but air beneath his feet. He hoped it wouldn’t be too far, and let go. He was unprepared for the sudden pain shooting up his shins as he hit the floor, too close below him. He’d half expected to fall endlessly. 

“I’m just saying,” Caleb just said from the window above him, “Doesn’t the king have other envoys who do this sort of thing? I thought royal court espionage was all fancy dinner parties and sneaking into bedrooms, accidentally stumbling on the princess in bed with the court jester, that sort of thing.” 

Ben snorted, searching the nearby wall for a candelabra. “You’ve spent too much time at the theater.” 

“Yeah, well. What else was I gonna do, year after year as a ghost? They love ghosts in the theater.” 

Ben lit the candle with a firestriker from the pouch at his hip. He looked about the nave by the dim light, wondering where he should try to set up his ingredients. Perhaps near the pulpit? “So you’re saying you don’t think me capable to conduct this sort of work?” 

As Caleb landed, a small jangle near his feet. “Christ, what was that?” 

Ben turned, candle in hand, and saw Caleb clutching his foot. His light found the bright green ball, rolling across the floor, a bell suspended inside. Before he could say anything, he heard a mewling noise come from between the rows of pews. He sighed in relief. “Must be a toy for the cathedral’s cat.” 

A heavy thud followed the mewling, and Caleb said, “uhhh…” staring at a point behind Ben’s shoulder. 

Ben turned. The cat was huge, three feet high, eyes glinting like silver in the candlelight. Ben heard a whirring noise as the cat cocked its head to one side. A cloud of steam escaped its nostrils. 

It seemed the church had prepared for the king’s envoys more than Ben had anticipated. 

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, Benny,” Caleb said from behind him, and Ben felt Caleb’s hands gripping him, one at his shoulder, the other at his waist. “It’s just that, I’d rather not be left on earth without you again.” Caleb dragged Ben backwards, away from the cat, and tugged at the shoulder of his tunic, running up the nave. 

The cat gave chase. 

“What, the way you plan to leave me here without you, once the time Graves allotted you is up?” Ben panted. 

Caleb burst through a door at the corner of the south transept, and Ben followed him into a narrow stairwell. 

“That’s why I wish you would make the most of the time we have,” Caleb shouted over his shoulder as they went up and up the winding spiral stone stair, “instead of endangering your life so often for the king.” 

Up and up until the staircase narrowed in around them and Ben’s vision went dark with dizziness. He clutched at the back of Caleb’s cassock, and felt Caleb’s hands steadying him, felt Caleb’s mouth kissing him. Ben closed his eyes and kissed with all the patience of a dog hungering for dinner. 

Suddenly there was light and air as they tumbled out onto a balcony, high above the rocky coast. 

The moon shone bright overhead, and their dinghy was just visible below, undulating with the waves. 

“Do you trust me?” Caleb grinned as the brisk night air whipped their faces.

“Not on your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on the prompt: 
> 
> Genre: Spy story   
> Location: Cathedral   
> Object: Cat toy 
> 
> in less than 1,000 words


End file.
